


The Shadows Cast

by VSSAKJ



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSSAKJ/pseuds/VSSAKJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As violence threatens the Pharaoh's borders, he carries on his late father's work in an attempt to secure enough power to save his country. Unfortunately, the only soul strong enough to bear the pressure of the dark realm—and secure the untold power sleeping within it—lives within a violent  thief who's sworn to kill the Pharaoh and all his court...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been in various states of progress for over seven years. Looks like this is the draft I'm going with.

The first time he stepped into the darkness, he was afraid.

It wasn't the way the portal back into the world of living and breathing snapped shut behind him as the priests cut off his only escape route. A gaping doorway yawning at his back would serve as nothing but a debilitating distraction and, if what they'd told him was true, he would need all his focus simply to survive in here.

He exhaled.

It wasn't the darkness itself, swirling and swimming around him, licking at his ankles and brushing outside the scope of his vision. He knew darkness; he travelled only by night, and the stars were, at best, fickle company. Torches proved to be enemies before allies, and he trusted the sharpness of his reflexes and the strength of his muscles. No, the darkness was kin and company to him, and nothing to fear.

He felt a bead of sweat slither down his cheek and drip into nothingness.

 

“He has not moved.” Isis reported, her voice quiet with the strain of keeping her spiritual gaze on the thief while speaking to the assembled company. Kalim and Shadah stood to either side of the intricate weave of markings traced into the floor, their eyes locked on Isis. She was leading only so far as she was the one who could see the thief while he was in the other side, and was therefore charged with ensuring that he did not die without at least an attempt of interference on their part.

Mahaado, on the Pharaoh's right hand, scoffed. “Of course not. He is only a common thief.”

“Peace, Mahaado.” Atemu spoke with bored authority, leaning forward to rest his chin on one hand, “We wait to see if he survives.”

“My apologies, Pharaoh.” Mahaado murmured, though his mouth was fixed in a firm line. He'd been most opposed to starting these rituals in the first place, and his opposition had grown only more fierce when the elusive villain calling himself the King of Thieves had been brought forward as a subject.

Mahaado refocused his critical gaze on Isis, silently demanding a further update on the thief's progress. Isis ignored him.

 

It wasn't the pressure; he'd been merely a child when the damned Pharaoh had burned his village to the ground, and the weight of that history rested heavily on his shoulders every day, everpresent. He felt the priestess's third eye on him, the violence of the Pharaoh's edict, and—he smirked around gritted teeth.

Oh, if only they knew.

 

“You have been quiet, Seth.” Mahaado's impatience lent his comment an accusatory tone; his venom was uncharacteristic, but Seth's silence in response to goading was moreso.

Atemu glared between his two priests before speaking, “Answer Mahaado, Seth. What troubles you?”

“The thief, as he bothers each of us.” Seth replied promptly, his stiff posture remaining. His words were acrid. Without moving, he went on, “You voice your concern, Mahaado. I consider mine.”

“How unusual,” Mahaado snapped, leaping into the argument, “Was it not you—”

“Mahaado.” Atemu spoke only one word, and silence fell.

 

It was the silence.

The silence frightened him, pulsing and writhing about him like a living thing. There were creatures in that darkness, ones with appetites more voracious than starving coyotes and powers to threaten even his stealthy prowess. He felt the ease and ebb of curious shades, and shuddered down onto one knee to suppress his presence.

It was only then he noticed his shallow breathing, laboured and pained. He stifled it, desperate to keep from drawing attention to himself. He was hardly so weak as to die here, and hardly so arrogant as to tempt the goodness of fate—he put little stock in it.

His fingers groped desperately at his side; he felt naked without a weapon. Iron would have been worthless here, against creatures with no bodies to strike, but it would be a familiar comfort.

 

“Bring him out.” Isis announced, lowering her trembling hands to rest at her sides. Kalim and Shadah crouched down as one, each splaying their fingers out across the markings on the floor and beginning to murmur words of prayer under their breath. The lines shimmered and came awake beneath their hands as light pulsed through the floor like blood pumps through veins. Mahaado hurried forward with the shackles and the rope, his expression dire and serious. Seth moved a single step to the side, placing himself between the Pharaoh and the portal his fellow priests were opening; should anything unexpected come through, he'd be there to meet it. His body was a weak shield, tempered only by faith and devotion, but it was stronger than air.

Atemu's lip curled in anticipation.

When the portal blinked into sudden existence, a few moments later, they saw the thief huddled on the ground—on his knees, but drooping forward as they watched. His back clearly shuddered as he drew breath, but they had all seen plenty worse. Mahaado seemed unwilling to give the thief a chance to move through the portal on his own power, and stepped up to the circle to whisper the prayer that would allow him entrance. Isis lifted one hand, and then let it fall back to her side without speaking a word; a moment later, she too crouched to the circle, adding her words to the web. The portal's edges became firmer.

“I am going to bring him back.” Mahaado said simply, and put his arm through into the other realm. He drew in a sharp, surprised gasp of pain before gritting his teeth and shoving both arms through to seize the thief. Mahaado was not gentle as he dragged the limp white-haired body back into the warmth of reality, and harsher still as he flung the thief to the ground and tied his arms behind his back. Kalim, Shadah and Isis together murmured the prayers that would sew the door shut, and then Isis moved forward to check the thief, laying a hand on his neck.

“He is alive, my Pharaoh.” Her relief was palpable; he had been the most promising candidate they'd had so far, and if she'd allowed him to die, they would be forced to begin all over again.

“Wake him.” Atemu said, leaning back once more in his seat.

Mahaado lifted the thief by the wide, open collar of his shirt and struck him across the face. He paused, staring at his own hand, suddenly prickling with cold. Twice more he struck the thief before Bakura reacted, and then only with the slow opening of his eyes and a growl of displeasure in the back of his throat. Mahaado let him fall back to the floor when this task was done, and said only, “He is awake.”

Atemu stood. In an instant, all of the priests went to one knee. Atemu raised his hand in dismissal of their formality and walked closer to the thief's body, now moving in such a manner that suggested the thief was attempting to get his bearings. His shoulders shuffled, his wrists flexed against their bindings and he turned his head from side to side. Seth was a shadow, one step behind the Pharaoh's movements.

Atemu did not crouch. He simply stood before Bakura and spoke, “You are alive.”

Bakura spat. “I am not so easy to kill.” He was disappointed at how quiet his own voice sounded, despite its harsh depth.

“Good.” Atemu laughed, putting the toe of one shoe beneath Bakura's cheek, “We intend to see how far that stubbornnes will go.”

“And you will keep your word.” Bakura's voice was without inflection, his eyes closed again.

“The Pharaoh always keeps his word.” Atemu said simply, and turned to walk away. “Seth.”

“Pharaoh.” Seth turned to him without hesitation, bowing his head.

“You will take this thief to the temple. Have him cleansed and washed. You will hear his confession.”

The body on the floor gave a violent bark of laughter; Mahaado reacted by kicking him, snarling, “You will show respect to the Pharaoh.”

“I'll show him respect when he's a corpse.” Bakura retorted, and was rewarded with another strike.

Atemu frowned, and turned back, “You forget, thief, that you are in my hands now. You have no friends in the palace, and no one who will aid you. You may make your attempts to kill me, but they will only prolong your own suffering. They may also make me question your value, and choose to have you killed.”

Bakura silenced himself and, satisfied, Atemu continued speaking to Seth, “When he has confessed all crimes that he has committed, we will consider him further. Until then, he is our prisoner and will continue to be tested. You are responsible for keeping him alive in this world, as Isis is responsible for his life in the other.” He turned. “Mahaado!”

Mahaado stiffly moved to the Pharaoh's side, his gaze still trained on the struggling thief. His lips were thin.

Atemu frowned. “Mahaado.”

“Yes, Pharaoh.”

“Walk with me.” Atemu swept from the room, feeling no need to wait for confirmation. Mahaado cast his fellow priests a final glance, exhaled deeply, and followed the departing figure. Seth turned to the rest of the room, where his eye was first drawn to Kalim, washing his hands in a basin near the door. Shadah was circling the markings on the floor, studying the portal's detailing to ensure it hadn't been damaged. There was no reason why a single opening should have done it harm, but Shadah was nothing if not meticulous. Isis stood near Bakura, looking unsure. Seth approached her.

“Are you worried?”

Isis looked at him. “No. He will be fine, as long as you do your part.”

“I'm awake, you know.” Bakura drawled from his place on the floor.

Isis ignored him and carried on, laying one hand on Seth's arm in a tight grip. He gave it a look, but she spoke lowly to him, her gaze serious, “You are not yourself, Seth. You will worry us if you continue to behave as Mahaado normally does, and Mahaado as you do. Your voice is one of the clearest ever heard in this court. Do not silence yourself.”

“Leave me with my charge, Isis.” He brushed her hand from his arm and reached down to seize Bakura by the shoulder, hauling him to his feet. The thief twisted in his grip and stumbled to stand on his own power, but he kept his balance and bared his teeth at Isis. He growled in her direction, voice rich with mirth, “Leave me to my confessions, priestess.”

Isis fell back a single step, gave them each a level look, and then turned to go about her own business.

“Come.” Seth said, pushing Bakura down one hallway and out of sight.

 

“You are bothered by the thief's presence here, Mahaado.” Atemu did not need to speak it as a question. He had led Mahaado through to his private gardens, a place well-known for its privacy and limited access points. Atemu stood with his back to the priest, ankle deep in the wading pool framed by wild growth of greenery.

“We are all bothered, Pharaoh.” Mahaado spoke quietly, aware that he was halfway to being reprimanded for his behaviour. Before today, he hadn't been aware that his temper could be triggered by little more than a person's presence; previously, he had limited his arguing to serious discussions with Seth, often in regards to the Pharaoh's health. He felt he took the Pharaoh's safety much more seriously than most and... truly, he was offended they had agreed to let that filth into the palace, despite his supposed use.

“Do you think I would invite danger into my home?”

Mahaado bit his lip. “No, Pharaoh.”

“Then why is your concern so violent?”

Carefully, now. This was dangerous ground, and Mahaado tread lightly. “I mislike his presence here.”

Atemu laughed, waving a hand behind him without turning to look at Mahaado. “Speak freely. I want the truth from you.”

“I do not trust him. I do not believe he will bring you what you seek from the other realm, and I do not believe anyone else has spoken from their heart on this matter.” Atemu remained silent, and Mahaado plunged onward, dropping to one knee as he continued his speech, “I do not believe we are threatened, and do not believe we have need of this power. I—”

“Mahaado.” Mahaado snapped his mouth shut; Atemu's voice was frigid. “You are dismissed.”

“Pharaoh.” Mahaado shuffled backwards as he rose, his head bowed low before he turned and darted away. He knew not which he felt stronger: frustration, or despair.

 

“Remove your shoes.” Seth pronounced carefully, after untying the bonds around Bakura's wrists.

The thief showed him teeth. “You trust me with my hands free? You're more of a fool than I thought.” He jolted forward, but swayed unbalanced on feet still bound together—and with a sharp gasp of pain.

Seth moved a single step to catch him by the shoulders and said only, “The gods do not take kindly to trespassers in their realm. You should not exert yourself.”

Bakura scowled, then, and snarled. “Don't you talk to me like that.”

“There are listeners.” Seth murmured in an undertone, before turning sharply away and leaving Bakura standing by his own power. The high priest turned and walked over to the priest usually in charge of the temple, and said shortly, “You and the acolytes are to leave. He is dangerous and will be difficult. I will not see any of you come to harm.”

“But you, sir—”

“I have the gods to protect me. I am their chosen.” Seth brushed away the protests, and showed his back to the priest as dismissal. He returned to Bakura and knelt on one knee before him, gesturing for his right foot.

Bakura threw his head back and laughed. “The high priest, on his knees, before me?”

“In the presence of the gods we are all made humble.” Seth murmured, taking the threadbare shoe from Bakura's foot and wrenching it off. Bakura wobbled and took hold of the shoulderpiece on Seth's shoulder; impatient, Seth tore the other shoe from Bakura's foot and rose, shaking the thief from him as he did. His expression flickered for a moment, and then he spoke, “Follow me.”

“I'm sick of this.” Bakura declared loudly, though he shuffled along behind Seth without resistance. As priests and acolytes dashed by them, eyes downcast, he spoke again, “Are they afraid of you or me?”

“Me.” Seth responded immediately, but a moment later, added, “Both.”

Bakura chuckled, and let silence rest between them. The temple was less grandiose than he'd have expected, though still showed all the flair of being on the grounds of the Pharaoh's palace. The floor was smooth beneath his bare feet and, despite being constructed of stone and mortar, the halls were curiously warm. When they reached what he assumed was the centre of the temple, Seth paused and extended an arm to stop him from continuing. Before them was a perfect square sunk into the floor, a brazier smouldering in its center at the base of a statue. Seth spoke low words beneath his breath, and Bakura laughed again, quipping, “So even the chosen of the gods must beg their permission to step into their sacred space? So much power, Seth.”

Seth whipped around and struck him so hard he fell over. As Bakura sprawled to the floor, Seth knelt at his side and hissed in his ear, “Do you think it so easy to bring you through these motions? Knowing your gall and your arrogance?”

Bakura's eyes sparked with fury, and he repeated Seth's phrasing with acid, “Do you think it so fucking easy to watch your hypocrisy in action?”

“You aren't here because of me.” Seth snapped. “I'd rather you be anywhere else.”

“Then set me free, priest. I can outrun your little Pharaoh's palace of eunuchs. I could murder them all before they got within arm's reach of me.”

Seth glared at him for a moment, then stood and stepped down into the square. He began walking around the statue, murmuring again below his breath, as Bakura eased himself into a sitting position. The thief let out a low breath and, after watching the circling priest for far too long, questioned, “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Seth snapped harshly, coming to a halt before Bakura and glaring down at him. His voice took on a serious, level tone, “What sins have you committed?”

“You're really going to try to play this with me? _Really_?” Bakura caught his lips halfway between a condescending smirk and a curl of derision. He didn't have the patience for Seth's _gods_ today; he was half-starved and more exhausted than he dared let on.

“Tell me your sins and you will be cleansed.” Seth spoke again, his expression glazed over.

“I'm not fucking doing this, Seth.”

“You'll address me with respect according to my station, thief.” 

“Is that so?” Bakura surged to his feet, putting him at eye level with Seth, “Tell me, then, what's the station of a priest who's fallen into the habit of sodomy? Is that what you priests call a good fuck?”

The red that spotted Seth's cheeks, and the way his fists bunched at his sides told Bakura he'd gone far enough—when Seth spoke again, it proved he'd gone too far. “If you consider that a confession, then I accept it. May the gods take up your knowledge of your sins and cast fair judgement upon you when you pass before Anubis. You will eat scraps. You will sleep in chains. Tomorrow, I will take another confession from you.”

As Seth swept past him, Bakura spat on him, snarling, “Liar.”

Seth paused. Then, quietly, he spoke, “And you.” and walked on.

 

Mahaado sought Seth out around the time they normally ate dinner. He found the High Priest nursing a plate of dried figs and a small cup of water. He approached from behind and spoke, “Seth. I would like to speak with you.”

“Sit, then.” Seth pushed his plate towards Mahaado without looking in his direction and said nothing more.

Mahaado sighed lightly and seated himself, taking a fig between his fingers and staring at it. He started quietly, “I apologise for my temper this afternoon. I have no strife with you.” He paused, but Seth said nothing, so he carried on, lowering his voice to a hissing whisper, “I thought we stood together on this matter. You opposed the Pharaoh starting a war when he began to speak of it. Surely you have not changed your mind?”

Seth exhaled and spoke in a monotone, “I have not.”

“Then why did you stand by? I would have appreciated your support.”

“He has made his statement. We are not here to oppose him.”

Mahaado bit his lip. “But he...” He paused again, and ran his fingers over the knuckles of the opposing hand. He bit into the fig, chewed it quickly and asked, “Have the gods spoken to you?”

“No.” Seth finally gave Mahaado a look; his expression was tired, but severe, “The gods have been silent on this matter.” Unspoken went the phrase _'As you should be.'_

Mahaado sighed again, fingers now bunching into a fist. “I had thought you would be my ally.”

“We are the Pharaoh's people. Nothing else.”

“And does that not mean we should protect his best interests?!” Mahaado's fist slammed down against the table, upsetting the plate. “He will bring war down on the country and he will die in battle. This power he seeks is what killed his father, and he believes himself capable—”

“I will not hear you speak treason, Mahaado.” Seth interrupted him, rising and shaking his head slightly, “Especially not when I know you are far from disloyal.”

Mahaado remained seated. His posture slumped, and his next mutters were bitter and forlorn, “Then we can do nothing?”

“We can do plenty.” Seth murmured, “We must simply do it carefully.”

 

Later that evening found Seth lying sleepless in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know what time it was, only that he'd spent hours already failing to sleep. He cursed himself for the concern in his heart, and focused instead on his resentment of the thief's words earlier today. How dare he. Bakura had no idea about life here, and certainly had no place lecturing him on it. And when he was to blame...

Seth sat up. Had he heard something?

Normally one to ignore it and settle back to sleep, he swung his legs out of bed and stood up. He wasn't sleeping anyway, so he may as well investigate—if it proved to be a slave making a misstep, he could loose his temper on them and hopefully sleep the better for it. He moved to the doorway of his room and peered out into the hallway, but saw nothing. Puzzled, he turned around to return to bed. As he did, though, a hand snaked around him from behind and took hold of his mouth. He jerked against the hold, eyes going wide, and only paused when he heard a familiar voice in his ear, “Don't panic.”

The fingers eased away from his mouth and he whirled around, snarling in a whisper, “What in the name of the gods do you think you're doing, Bakura?!”

The thief shrugged, though his expression was far too dangerous for the motion to be casual. “Seems to me I've been here plenty of times. Nice to be made welcome.”

“Do you have any idea...” Seth spluttered, absolutely beside himself, “Do you _care_ what it will mean if you're caught here? What about the guards?”

“They're sleeping.”

Seth narrowed his eyes. “Sleeping, or dead?”

Bakura showed his teeth. “Sleeping.” Seth opened his mouth to speak again, but Bakura snaked forward and took hold of the priest's throat. He spoke lowly, but his words vibrated with fury, “You listen to me. I don't know what you're thinking, but don't you dare act like you can protect me. I know the sort of _shit_ your fucking court pulls. You might put me in chains and keep me locked up, but I have more fucking freedom here than you ever will. Your damned Pharaoh will never take that away from me, and neither will you, no matter how much power you try to lord over me.”

Seth made a choked sound, eyes narrowed to slits. Bakura squeezed tighter, to the point that Seth started to claw desperately at Bakura's arm. “Do you _understand_ , Seth?” Bakura snarled, “Do you understand?” _'I don't need a weapon to kill you.'_

Seth dug his fingers in as deeply as he could, but the corded muscle in Bakura's arm offered no give. He jerked his head in one sharp nod and gasped a deep breath as Bakura released the pressure on his neck. He bowed his head, heaving air in and out of his lungs, while focusing a severe glare on Bakura.

“Do you want to say something?” Bakura quipped.

“Fuck you.” Seth muttered, before biting his lower lip and then repeating himself with more vehemence, “ _Fuck you_.”

“No.” Bakura said, darting around Seth's grip to take a hold of him at the waist, “Fuck you.”

They should have been louder than they were. Seth thrashed and fought, kicking out until Bakura forced him back onto his bed and settled in place on his hips. Bakura held his wrists down and hunched down over his body to keep him in place, sinking his teeth into the priest's neck.

Seth writhed and arched into the bite, at odds with himself and more aware than usual of how dangerous Bakura could be—on all counts. If someone went looking for the thief, he would not be where he was supposed to, and given that _he_ was responsible for Bakura's whereabouts... He curled his fingers, grasping at air because Bakura was not allowing him to take hold of anything else. Almost against his will, he pressed back against the thief with his hips.

Bakura let out a growl and gave a thrust against Seth's middle, releasing one of Seth's hands to reach to the table beside the priest's bed. Seth immediately took hold of his hair and pulled hard; he gave another low growl as his fingers jumped against the edge of the bowl of oil at the bedside and nearly upset it. He would never stop being thankful for all the damnable makeup Seth was made to wear, if it meant there would always be oil on hand.

Seth exhaled hard and hissed, “Hurry.” Bakura needed no telling twice; with only scant lubricant, he thrust into the priest full force, remembering at the last moment to cover Seth's mouth with his own. He swallowed the initial cry of pained surprise and began to move back at forth, at a quick pace that gave Seth very little time to adjust. Seth twisted against him, caught between pain and pleasure, desire and shame.

Their fucking did not take long. It was slick, rough, and sharp as a knife; Seth arched so hard that his back cracked, and Bakura let out a long, low breath of relief, and they slowly fell into a subdued silence. After only a moment, though, Seth spoke aloud, in the direction of his ceiling, “You're going to get us both killed.”

“I don't get caught.” Bakura's reply was muffled, his face turned away in his arm.

“You're here.” Seth shot back, his words monotone.

“I came here.” Bakura replied quickly, but when Seth did not say anything else, he lifted his head to study the priest's expression. After a moment, his brow furrowed, “You mean the Pharaoh.”

Seth nodded mutely, looking in the other direction.

Bakura chuckled softly and pressed his lips to the bite on Seth's neck, “They didn't catch me.”

“Is that so.” Seth's tone indicated that he didn't believe it.

“I _let them_ catch me. Look at me.” Seth did; Bakura was smirking. “What better place to be, if I'm going to kill the Pharaoh?”

“He'll never give you the freedom to wander the palace. And I'm not going to help you. You should know that.”

“I don't need your help, or his. I'm here, aren't I?”

Seth sighed. Trust the thief to turn his words around again. He shifted away from the other man's warmth, muttering, “You need to leave.”

There were no words in response, only the shift of material as the thief slipped out on his light feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Bakura slept clear through the next day, and woke when the sun was setting. His mouth tasted chalky and he was surprised to find himself stiff and cold on the floor of a cell too cramped to lie flat in. He twisted into a sitting position, grappling for his memories—and he found them, and gritted his teeth furious frustration. His body ached with the discomfort of curling on the floor all day, but more, he felt hollow within, as though something had failed to return with him after he left that other realm.

He licked his lips before swallowing, and suddenly found himself beset with coughing. Surely it was plain hunger and thirst, no strangers to him. He put it from his mind.

He languished for a week before they dared send him back through the portal. As promised, the first day he ate scraps and slept in chains, but following that miserable day, Seth permitted him rounder meals and a small cell furnished with a clean pallet. He of course remained a prisoner, kept behind locked doors and taken out only in Seth's presence with a half-dozen guards on hand. They exercised him like an animal, nowhere near enough to maintain the formidable strength he'd learned in the desert, and if it didn't gall him so to be surrounded by shaking spears clutched in the hands of nervous eunuchs, he'd show them how much more he was capable of. He'd give them no reason to increase his pathetic escort.

Bakura was not a patient man, but he chose to bide his time. When he lay abed with muscles quietly twitching for further exertion, he reminded himself that every day he spent here was one closer to the day he'd finally slit the Pharaoh's throat. He nursed his hatred, the healthy strength that had pushed him so far. He was closer than he'd been in years, and he wasn't about to squander that chance. He would only have one.

That morning, he knew things would be different: he woke to the woman at his door rather than Seth. She stood to one side and let the four guards enter to fix chains to his ankles and bind his wrists tightly behind his back.

Understanding the implication, Bakura growled, “Another attempt today, woman?”

She gave him a look. Her eyes were too deep to read her emotions. “Yes, thief. Do you feel rested enough for it?”

He expected her query was only formality, but he glared regardless. “Restless. Your soft palace guard bores me.” Perhaps from her the request would carry more weight. Seth was too fearful of showing him any kind of bias.

“I see.” She said nothing further, and turned.

The guard marched him down the hall several lengths behind her brisk pace, so near at hand that he might have tripped were he not so closely surrounded. Oh, he'd show them—given half the chance, he'd show them all.

He was surprised to find a chill sweep into his stomach when they stopped him before the portal. It lay dormant, nothing but an arch rising from the circle patterned on the floor, but two priests were stalking around its edge in silence, and he knew it would hardly be long before they sent him through. He wondered what they hoped to accomplish this time; he was not anywhere near as informed as he would have liked, but he could sense that the priests did not believe in his capabilities, and that drove him to succeed.

“Thief. We are giving you a goal today.”

He turned to Isis and smirked. “Something challenging, I hope.”

Her expression flickered, and he could swear it was a smile she smothered. “We expect so. When you are within the other realm, you are to walk ten paces.”

Bakura barked laughter. “Only ten?”

“For your second visit, it is a lofty goal. Five will suffice, if it is all you can manage.”

He did not wonder if she was deliberately goading him—he believed it. He lowered his chin to glare at her, but did not reply. A moment later, he turned to face the space where the portal would appear. He stood, tall and sharp, as the three priests moved about him murmuring quiet prayers. Light flowed through the lines on the floor and pooled in front of him, and then there was a soft sound of inhalation, and the black world he remembered was before him.

The cold in his belly insisted he step backwards; the grit of his teeth saw him stalking forward. He heard no call for him to pause, and would not have ceased no matter who spoke. White-cold pain lanced through his body as he crossed the threshold, and he heard himself gasp before the silence of that world engulfed him.

 

“I'm surprised, Seth.”

“Mahaado.” Seth looked up from his scrolls, putting his pen and ink to one side. He brushed the back of one hand across his eyes and, with no small shock, realised dawn had come and gone hours ago. It was nearing midday and he hadn't slept at all. “Why?”

“You haven't seen to your charge today.”

Seth racked his memory and forced his reply to be cool. “He belongs to Isis today.”

“Isis sent word for you. She is slighted by your forcing her responsibilities into this realm as well as the other.”

Seth stood, glaring. “I have had no word.”

Mahaado smiled suddenly, and reached to press a hand to Seth's forearm. “No, because I bring it now. Peace, Seth. His day's trial is over. He failed.”

“Is he dead?” Seth asked the question before any emotion could register within him. He balled his hands to fists as they began to walk, lest they start shaking.

“No.” Mahaado's triumphant expression faltered for a moment, then resumed. “But he managed only three steps before he fell unconscious. Kalim went through to retrieve him, but he attracted attention. It is only a matter of time before one of the things in there slaughters him.”

“You are too excited by that prospect, Mahaado.” Seth's thoughts flew elsewhere, his words bland. “You know it unseemly for a priest to approve of bloodshed beyond sacrifice.”

“I am heartened by anything that keeps the Pharaoh's life safe. And the further he is from success in this endeavour, the safer he is.” Mahaado's tone turned severe, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he sighed. His steps slowed, and his gaze drifted to one side. “I do not speak against the Pharaoh's ambitions. I only...”

“We all worry, Mahaado. Do not forget that.” Seth swept suddenly past him, leaving Mahaado slack-jawed in the hall.

 

“Isis.” Seth frowned at the sight of Isis seated at attention next to Bakura's unmoving form. He strode into the room with authority, and made an effort not to snap, “Why did you not call for me immediately?”

“I had to ensure he was enough here to be considered yours, Seth.” She smoothed the length of cotton that stretched across her knees, and adjusted her position to rise to her feet, “One who falls in that realm may become lost without seeming so. I will not shirk my duties.”

“So he is well?”

“He is alive.” Isis's response was serious, and she folded her arms across her chest, speaking simply, “He complained of boredom, before I sent him through. He is a good choice for this because he is strong, dangerously so. Do not squander that strength.”

Seth bit back the scornful sigh that wanted to pass his lips, and dipped his head to Isis instead. “I hear you, Isis, and will do what I am able. I will guard him now.” Only after she left the room did he allow himself to examine Bakura. The thief's tan face was whiter than Seth had ever known it to be, and his breathing came only in shallow, rasping breaths. When Seth laid his fingers lightly upon the thief's wrist, it proved cool to the touch, and the blood beating within it seemed sluggish.

Seth had watched other, weaker men die within and without the strange, violent realm the Pharaoh sought power from, but he had never paid any mind to the effects of exposure to that place. Few enough of them had survived to make a second attempt, as Bakura had, and Seth had never taken the time to examine their weakened state. He thought he might fear it—fear what that other realm was capable of.

 

He sat stern vigilance at Bakura's side for three days before the thief awoke. Even so, Seth could hardly be sure of calling it a waking—eyes bloodshot, Bakura swallowed a mouthful of water and fell again into unconsciousness, though this time it seemed it might be real, restful sleep rather than the cold weight that had held him before. Isis visited each morning and evening to ensure Bakura had not drifted into the darkness, and Kalim made his presence known with each rotation of the guard, but Shadah was the one who ensured Seth took meals. Shadah placed the crisped waterfowl within reach, and waited until Seth's sense of smell prompted him to eat before departing. However, no one could persuade Seth to leave the cell.

On the fourth day, Mahaado made himself present without announcement. “Well, Seth?”

“He yet lives, Mahaado.” Seth replied without inflection, his hands neatly folded in his lap. He had determined this was the position which reflected the least personal investment—he was only a loyal priest overseeing his Pharaoh's investment.

“Hn.” Mahaado made a frustrated sound, raking a hand through his hair. “Is there any sign... ?”

“He drinks.” Seth shrugged, dipping a cloth into a bowl of water then pressing it to Bakura's lips; both priests watched Bakura's throat muscles contract around a swallow in response. “But nothing else.” To demonstrate, he pressed his thumb to one of Bakura's eyelids and lifted it. Bakura's eye revealed a blown pupil, a tangle of bright red veins, and a vacant, unresponsive gaze.

Mahaado grimaced, waving a dismissive hand. “Are you so sure he will recover?”

Seth released Bakura's eyelid. “I am sure of nothing. Do you need something from me?”

“No more than what you have given. The Pharaoh wished for news regarding any changes in his condition.” Mahaado turned to leave, pausing with his hand raised upon the door. “Seth. Take some rest.”

“I will not leave the prisoner unattended.” Seth ground the words out between his teeth, refusing to move an inch.

“Then allow me—”

Seth turned sharply and his voice rose, “Are you able to swear that you will do nothing to hinder his recovery? To swear in the Pharaoh's name that you will not permit or cause him harm? You have made yourself clear enough Mahaado, and he is in my keeping. I will not have you undo my good name.”

Scowling like a desert storm, Mahaado billowed out of the room, and Seth exhaled a sigh.

 

“How many days?”

The rasp of Bakura's voice rattled Seth from his unintentional dozing on the fifth day's cooling evening. His heart quickening and his lips tight, he replied, “Five. You were unconscious for three and slept through the following two. Here.” He handed over a small chunk of stiff flatbread from yesterday's stale loaf. Bakura snatched it from Seth's hand and inhaled half in a single mouthful, desparate as an animal. Seth snarled under his breath, “Slowly, you idiot. You'll choke yourself.”

“Water.” Bakura demanded in response; he spilled liquid down his front as he clutched shakily at the brimming clay cup Seth offered. His throat wet, he seized the remaining flatbread and tore a mouthful from it with his teeth.

“Bakura.”

Bakura ignored him, all attention on devouring his pathetic meal. The absence of food or drink in his system gnawed urgently at his spine; he would concern himself with the itchy dryness in his eyes and ache in his bones later.

“Bakura.” Seth pushed harder for attention, his voice pitched low, “You have to live.”

Bakura coughed, and coughed harder until the laughter rumbled from his chest and filled the cell. When he gasped enough breath to speak, he hissed, bits of bread flying from his mouth, “Oh, _do I_? I had no idea. For your Pharaoh, isn't it? Or for your own glory? Just keep me clear on the details, priest. I'd hardly look to disappoint.”

Seth struck him across the face in a furious surge to his feet, bellowing, “You will live because the Pharaoh wills it!” He slammed the door behind him on Bakura's roar of rage; in the hall, his mind raced. If just two ventures could reduce Bakura so thoroughly, how would he fare through further exposure? How could the Pharaoh dream of holding such a vile power when it could so effortlessly destroy the strongest person Seth knew of? There was so little they could claim to know of that place, yet the Pharaoh still insisted...

His aimless, angry steps led him to the temple, ever a place of respite. He found himself an unceremonious room within which to pray through gritted teeth; the Gods rarely offered answers, but at least they would not disturb him.

 

“Why do you suppose he remains, Isis?”

“Pharaoh.” Isis murmured, watching Atemu's eyes track Bakura's movements in the courtyard below. The thief jogged long easy circuits of the coutyard, pace akin to the mile-eating gait of a wolf.

“Does he expect me to believe him trapped and tamed? He could easily escape if he liked. There, or there.” Atemu lazily indicated two separate points at the courtyard walls where guards were thinly spread and footholds were apparent. “Does he think I believe his lust for vengeance has been stated? I yet breathe, so he cannot be satisfied. If he thinks to catch me unawares, he is sorely mistaken.”

“He is dangerous.” Isis agreed, her eyes studying something different. The thief's skin hung differently on his frame, she thought, the way a woven carpet slung itself deeply and drooped towards the floor. She pressed her lips together.

“He is dead.” Atemu returned, rolling a pomegranate seed between his fingers, “I have sworn not to kill him for the crimes for which we arrested him, provided he supplies me with the power from that other realm. If he does not, his life is forfeit regardless—he will die there, with no portal to release him.” Atemu bared his teeth as he went on, popping the pomegranate seed with idle violence, “But he is not such a great predator as he believes, and lacks the patience to wait for me to cease suspecting him. When he believes himself able, he will strike at me, and we will be prepared to dispose of him in return.”

Isis made a motion with one hand. “My Pharaoh, I would like to understand your thoughts. Is it wise to cage so fierce an animal? When his jaws do at last snap shut, they will gouge deep.”

“And they will go no deeper than mere flesh.”

“Do we know that for certain?”

Atemu's expression shuttered. “My father—may Osiris keep him till spring—died for the power in that realm. I will not dishonour his memory by forgetting that.” Isis murmured the appropriate words of respect, but Atemu waved a dismissive hand and went on, eyes glinting, “Try him again in the morning.”

Isis's eyes widened. “He is only beginning to recover—”

“Dare you question the Pharaoh's word?” Atemu snarled the question, fingers tight around the balustrade and dripping with juice from the pomegranate he'd not eaten.

Isis bowed a deep, hurried apology and excused herself from the Pharaoh’s side. Her heart pounded, and she could not quell an ominous feeling thrumming through her veins.

 

“Seth. We must speak.” Isis plucked at Seth's sleeve, earning herself a glare. At her expression, however, Seth stopped walking and responded.

“What is it?”

“Come.” Isis led him through the halls to a lesser-used waiting room, its walls lined with benches. “I would rather not be overheard.”

“Would private chambers not be better?”

“I would not arouse suspicion by holding private audience with you.” She strode over to the tall jar in one corner and eased the lid off it, then plunged in the dipper to raise stale water. She sat down as though the conversation were a pleasant one in the palace gardens, but spoke in an urgent undertone, “The Pharaoh has commanded another attempt on the portal tomorrow. The thief will die if we allow it to proceed.”

Seth began to reply when Isis pressed a hand to his knee; footsteps sounded in the hallway. Mahaado's voice came from without a moment later, “Seth? Have you gone this way?”

Seth gave Isis a meaningful look and she raised her voice, “Mahaado, join us.”

Mahaado peered into the room before crossing it to join them, keeping his voice low, “What are you discussing?”

Without hesitation, Isis spoke again, “The Pharaoh wills another attempt at the portal tomorrow.”

Mahaado made a disgusted noise. “Why is that a cause of concern?”

Seth inclined his head in the slightest of nods, “What issue comes of the thief dying?”

“Neither you nor the Pharaoh realise the danger of allowing such a strong body to fall in that realm. Our location is known. The powers of that place lurk about our gateway, seeking passage into our realm. I do not think them a mild neighbour.” Isis frowned deeply, going on in measured tones, “However, they have the same difficulty experiencing our world as we do theirs. They would require a vessel to subsist in our domain.”

Mahaado opened his mouth, but Seth cut across him, growling, “If you know this, why do you not tell the Pharaoh? Our knowledge of that realm pales to yours.”

“The Pharaoh is aware, but considers the risk worthwhile. I was asked to proceed with improving my understanding of that place without spreading the knowledge. Kalim has some awareness, but no one else.” Unspoken was a bare apology; Isis's tone made it clear she did not relish withholding information from her fellow priests.

“Why are you telling us now?” Mahaado asked.

“Because I am afraid.” Isis lifted her chin as if daring them to scorn her, “I am afraid of what may strike us should the thief be our last attempt. You must understand, we do not _close_ the portal: we cease to hold it open. I do not know what defenses we could muster against a tide of darkness we scarcely understand. I will not oppose the Pharaoh's wishes, and the thief will make an attempt in the morning, but I would do so with assurances in place.”

Seth's voice grated, taut and low. “What are you proposing?”

“I propose we use our faith to bolster him. Yours, in particular, Mahaado.”

“Me?” Mahaado blinked. “Why me?”

Seth straightened and made a self-referential gesture. “Should I not be the one to offer my strength?”

“I mean no insult to your position, Seth.” Isis offered as clarification, “Rather, I look to draw upon Mahaado's love for the Pharaoh.”

“I despise that _wretch_.” Mahaado spat, his implication clear.

“Then take what sour pleasure you may in knowing this will be unpleasant for him, at best.” Isis’s eyes bore into him. “Do not think of it as assisting the thief. Think of it as safeguarding the Pharaoh. Do I have your agreement?”

Seth stood, running his hands down his forearms. He managed to suppress a shiver as he spoke. “I fail to see why I was involved, if your plan has so little to do with me.”

“It must be done tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I have been working on this for the past... three years. It shouldn't take so long next time.


	3. Chapter 3

“What are you doing?” Bakura’s eyes glinted from within the dark cell, the dim light from the torchlit hallway catching at his edges and showing him crouched like a cat in one corner.

Words shot through Seth’s head. _‘Ensuring your survival.’ ‘Countermining the Pharaoh’s will.’ ‘Nothing I agree with.’_ All true, none helpful. He needed Bakura to comply with him; Mahaado had taken the guards on a brief patrol, and Isis awaited in the nearest holy chamber. He had very little time.

The silence stretched, and Bakura did not relax. Finally, Seth murmured, “We look to bolster your strength.”

Bakura barked a laugh. “Don’t lie to me, Seth. You’re transparent.”

“Will you make me say it?” Seth snarled, shaking with tension. There were too many things at stake, and too many emotions roiling within him, none of which he was happy to admit.

“I’m not stupid. You’re doing something the Pharaoh wouldn’t approve of, or else I’d still be asleep. Don’t I need my precious fucking _rest_? Don’t you?” Bakura growled, refusing to relinquish his position in the corner.

Finally, Seth settled. “The Pharaoh will see you through the portal again tomorrow.”

In the darkness, Bakura’s face paled. He crouched, more aggressive, “I’m not going to let him kill me.”

“Nor are we.” _‘Nor am I, gods help me.’_ He set his jaw and turned, indicating. “Come with me.”

“You’re not going to hobble me?”

“Do I have the need?”

“Don’t test me.” Bakura finally straightened and ghosted across the tiny cell, brushing against Seth as he passed. He glanced down the corridor, head cocked towards the murmur of voices. “Mahaado? Why is he helping you?”

“He loves the Pharaoh.” Seth said simply, pushing Bakura into the hall and pulling the door of the cell shut behind them. Once it was locked, he seized one of Bakura’s wrists and pulled it. “Behind your back. I will not be seen to favour you.”

“Then why did you volunteer to collect a complacent, cooperative thief?”

“I did not. I simply proved to be the least conspicuous for the act. I will make an excuse if necessary, and no one may see fit to question me.”

Bakura laughed, low and thrumming, and held his wrists together behind his back for Seth to bind them. “You’re pathetic, Seth.”

Seth shoved Bakura against the wall and pressed against him from behind, breathing heavily in his ear, “You are filth. I despise you. I envy you. You have no idea.”

Bakura jerked resistance, eventually pitching his head backwards to strike Seth in the face. Seth flung him to the ground in return, holding a hand to his nose and breathing harshly. He shuddered, took a step forward, then turned around and seized Bakura by the shoulder, lifting him back to his feet. “Follow.”

Bakura did, glowering but saying nothing further.

When they arrived, Isis dipped her head to them and ushered Bakura into place, slipping the bonds from his wrists as she did. If she found them loose, she made no comment. The floor had lines traced upon it, incense smoldered softly in one corner and a brazier burned in the other. As Bakura assumed his position within a large circle, he questioned, “Will you explain what’s going on, woman?”

“No.” Isis replied, crouching to reaffirm the lines scuffed by Bakura’s feet. Then she examined the semi-circle funnelled into the larger, ensuring the shape was closed and the three points were marked by small, round stones.

“Will this work?” Seth asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes.” Was Isis's only word, nodding to Mahaado as he joined them and placed the door across the entrance, indicating the room was in use. “Quickly, Mahad, come here.” Mahaado obeyed, scowling at Bakura. Once in place—opposite the thief, at the top of the funelling circle—he removed his headpiece, Ring, and shirt, handing them off to Seth who placed them to one side of the room.

Bakura grinned sharply. “Hello, priest. So glad you could help me.”

“Shut up.” Mahaado growled, extending his arms to Isis’s beckoning. She dipped her fingers into a bowl of powdered mineral—the same red as that lining the floor—and dragged them down Mahaado’s right forearm, following the route water may run off in the rain. Then she coated her palm and turned to Bakura; she nodded to Seth, who stepped forward to pull off the thief’s wilted coat.

“What is this?” Bakura snapped, as Isis gripped his shoulder, leaving a behind a solid handprint on his brown skin.

“You must be marked for the power to find you.” Isis murmured, not ceasing to move as she replaced the current bowl and took up another. This powder was pale grey, and Isis drew a circle over Mahaado’s heart, then extended the line all the way down his left arm, ending the trail on his palm. She then turned to Bakura and filled in a larger circle over his heart, with lines radiating out from its centre.

Bakura shifted under her touch, beginning to growl protest; Isis hushed him and careful adjusted the powder marking his skin. Under her breath, she murmured, “Any irregularities will only make this more painful for you. Be still.” At this range, Bakura could see tightness lining her eyes.

Mahaado took a turn at grinning darkly now, “Move all you like, thief.”

Bakura bared his teeth like a wolf but straightened and stilled.

As Isis gently continued to array lines from the circle over Bakura's heart, Seth asked a question, “How is this regulated, Isis? You're designing an open connection between them.”

“Mahaado knows the extent to which he can give. It will cease to flow when he so chooses.” Isis finished with the grey and collected a final bowl, filled with brilliant blue powder. With it, she traced tiny circles, hollow in the centre, on Bakura's shoulders, ankles, wrists, and hipbones. Over each one, she whispered, “The eye is shut.”

She turned to Mahaado and blotted one full circle on his forehead. “The eye is open.”

Mahaado's demeanor changed; he spoke one word, low and firm, “Seth.”

Understanding, Seth lifted the Ring from its place on the floor with Mahaado's other things and settled it in place around Mahaado's neck.

Bakura shifted his stance, voice changed, “I won't be touched with that.”

Mahaado shot him a furious look, “There's no need to mar it with you.”

Bakura flushed with fury. “Someday you'll wish you'd never claimed it as yours.”

“Quiet, both of you.” Isis snapped, fastening the Necklace about her throat, “We haven't the time. Seth, please set the ward in place.”

Rod in hand, Seth paced the room methodically, tracing symbols in the air while Isis began to murmur. The air shifted; it came alive, tingling with energy. The Necklace took on a gentle glow. 

Bakura exhaled heavily, then muttered. “I feel heavier.”

“Quiet.” Seth snapped, “They need to concentrate.”

Bakura huffed unhappily, but quieted. Isis raised her hands and lay them like a mantle upon Mahaado's shoulders; Mahaado gritted his teeth before breathing softly and standing further upright. Something in the air sparked, both light and dark at the same time.

Mahaado made a motion with his left hand, which Isis recognised. She pulled a small, flat blade from a hidden pocket on her clothing and held it before the centre of the Necklace. After something indeterminate occured, she nodded firmly once and drew the blade across the interior of Mahaado's elbow, making him gasp. Blood flowed out in rivulets, seeming to tack to the red powder lines drawn down Mahaado's arm. He let his arm hang for a moment until blood dripped between his knuckles, then firmly seized hold of Bakura's shoulder, his hand covering the whole of Isis's mark.

Bakura sucked in a sharp breath, then let it out between his teeth with a hiss. The air was full of sparks now, ethereal pops of light and colour that seemed drawn towards the blue spot on Mahaado's forehead. Mahaado himself had taken on a steady, warm glow—like that of the Necklace but firmer round the edges—and the place where his palm met Bakura's shoulder glowed like iron in a forge. Bakura could feel the foreign energy flowing throughout him, skimming across his surface like oil in a cooking pot. 

“You must accept the gift, thief.” Isis's voice was suddenly in his ear, louder than it should have been.

“I will not!” Bakura bellowed, jerking away from Mahaado's hand.

“You will.” Mahaado's words boomed over Bakura's, and Seth was glad the ward held in the sound of their bickering. Mahaado leaned forward, a tower of violent grace, and pushed into the place where he and Bakura remained connected.

Bakura felt one of his knees buckle under the immense pressure, and grit his teeth furiously as he went down. He felt sweat beading on his brow and his shoulder was beginning to ache painfully with heat. The energy felt like the Nile floods, overflowing him, and Bakura focused in on his self-affirming hatred rather than be swept away. He hated the Pharaoh, he hated these priests, he hated Seth, he hated this damned life, he hated the portal...

“Mahaado.” Isis's voice again, sounding like it was a canyon away. “Be careful.”

Mahaado's eyes glinted, sweat pouring down the centre of his back. He leaned ever further forward, his feet planted but his body slanted above Bakura's, dripping blood. “I will not let the Pharaoh fall. I will not let us stand defenseless against a darkness we do not understand. I will not let our Pharaoh fail, even if that means strengthening this _thief_.”

“Idiot.” Bakura laughed, long and loud and echoing down the canyon, then screamed as boiling waters suddenly flooded up to his ears. Frantic, he made motions as though he was swimming, but his body was weighed down with boulders and he could taste the blood of overexertion in his mouth.

“Release it!” Seth's voice rang clarion above the swirl of power, “Mahaado, _control yourself_!”

Mahaado spat and suddenly everything became lighter; Bakura crumpled down to meet the floor as the room became dimly-lit once more, Mahaado sank shakily to his own knees, breathing heavily, and Isis flitted around the room, undoing wards to help the gathered magic dissipate. Bakura coughed twice before he curled tightly in on his protesting stomach and retched.

“Idiot.” Seth murmured, unconsciously echoing Bakura as he offered a skin of water to Mahaado. “You were nearly taken.”

“I was not.” Mahaado drank in measured sips, his eyes deeply sunken into his face. “I had control. You didn't need to intervene.”

“He isn't an acolyte.” Seth indicated Bakura with a tilt of his head, “He has no practice holding blessings.”

Mahaado smirked, somehow satisfied by that comment, and settled back on his ankles to continue drinking. As Isis began to clear the floor, Seth moved across to Bakura and touched the side of his head. Bakura twitched, and Seth leaned down to press a second skin of water to Bakura's dry lips.

“Fuck off, Seth.”

“Know your place.” Seth snarled, covering panic by forcing water into Bakura's mouth. The thief coughed before he managed to swallow several mouthfuls, then Bakura seized up suddenly, grappling at Seth's forearm before passing out cold on the floor. Seth stood and brushed off his knees, “He has fallen unconscious.”

Isis sighed loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a short one.


	4. Chapter 4

The third time, and the darkness felt no more familiar than the first.

Bakura exhaled heavily, twitching each of his fingers in turn as the darkness prowled around him, fangs and claws all but extended. There was nothing to see, but he could tell. Despite the damn priests’ portal staying in the same place, every venture seemed to pitch him into a new welt of darkness, and even with the threatening weight of their gazes on him like self-satisfied hawks, he always took a moment to find a center within himself after entering this realm.

… Something _was_ different, this time. Movement demanded less concentration than usual, and the heady menace of the distant shadows had dissipated rapidly, rather than creeping ever closer as it always had before. The realm’s weight felt further too, and his body seemed nearly free to move as normal.

Still feeling naked without a weapon, Bakura assumed an easy crouch and began to jog through the nothingness. He soon lost track of how quickly he travelled, of in which direction he travelled, of what great gaping pits of malevolence he avoided; briefly, he lost track of everything but the salty taste of sweat on his upper lip and the steady rhythm of his footsteps. When he could maintain his thoughts long enough for rationality, he could identify two primary directions: towards the portal, and towards the pull.

He’d travelled very far, and rapidly.

_What have we here?_

Bakura froze in place, poised for reactive movement and casting his gaze about wildly to find the source of the voice. Laughter thrummed in the dark.

_You won’t find me. You can’t see a thing in here._

“I can see fine.” Bakura growled in response, fruitlessly turning in a slow circle as his fingers groped for lacking iron. Would he ever grow used to its absence? He bared his teeth in directionless frustration.

_You’re a beacon, you know. You’re like a star on a cloudless night. Bright and beautiful for all to see. Noisy, too._ A further chuckle, throaty and deep. _Terribly noisy._

“Damnit.” Bakura spat without direction, then almost leapt out of his skin as a new—disgustingly familiar—voice sounded inside his head.

‘ _What’s going on, thief?’_

“The priest?” Bakura grumbled aloud, straightening to turn in an even more vicious, desperate circle, trying to identify the origin of Mahaado’s voice as well as the stranger’s. If not for the chorus of adrenaline shouting for his attention, he might have had the presence of mind to wonder if he was delirious.

‘ _You’ve gone farther than Isis can see. What have you found?’_

“Where are you?” Bakura snarled instead of replying, and was rewarded with the distinct impression of a sigh.

‘ _Watching the portal, as we always do until you return. Usually it’s a much shorter event than this.’_

“Then why the fuck are you in my head?”

There was a further impression that Mahaado would have shrugged if he were a real human being.

‘ _It must be some sort of side effect. I’ll ask Isis. I have no interest in sharing any sort of connection with the likes of you.’_

At least this ground was familiar. “I thought priests were supposed to be polite.”

_This is all very cheerful, but I’m done listening. It’s your turn now._

As the stranger’s voice billowed in around Bakura, he suddenly found himself pressed flat to the surface which had previously been supporting his feet. Calling any of this place earthen seemed perverted, but whatever had just been ‘down’ was now making intimate acquaintance with his chest. He couldn’t breathe; gasping, he shoved with all his might as the old, familiar effects of this realm tumbled back into place. Darkness pinched between his eyelids, his bones began to ache, and every ounce of his body became a thousand times heavier in an instant.

Bakura’s heart seized with panic. He refused to die here, like this. He would not.

_There. Now you’re back to the way you were when you started._

“Fuck you.” Bakura roared, sweat coursing from his brow as he pushed against all the world of pressure on his back. Nothing changed, and he moved not an inch.

_Shh. You’re very impressive. I want to talk to you without any distant, prying ears listening in. Those people who’ve sent you here have quite a lot of light to quell. But here, the darkness is stronger._

“Fuck you.” Bakura repeated in a murmur, his arms beginning to quake. He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers, and spots of strange colours were beginning to pop in his vision. This… conversation was beginning to sound frightfully similar to the one that had led him to this menacing realm in the first place.

_Such spite._ The voice chortled. _Wouldn’t you like some assistance? Your methods are fine, using their light to help you. But you have much further to go than you realise, and they can’t stretch nearly that far. Other beings eat the light, you see. It’s quite delicious. You should have cloaked yourself in darkness._

Like it was the easiest thing in the world—“And how was I supposed to do that?” Bakura gasped, unable to inject enough venom into his words, “I didn’t ask for this fucking blessing.”

A face materialised before his—or rather, an approximation of a face did, with two glowing yellow eyes floating in pitch. A shiver ran down Bakura’s weary spine.

_I like you. Let me help_.

“And in exchange you’ll eat my soul? I know how this bullshit works. I don’t need any more fucking _help_.”

_This blessing goes against you._ Fine golden threads twinkled before him as though strung between outspread hands. He blinked, and they remained. _You’re stronger in the dark._ The voice continued. _You’re a silence. You’re a shadow. They’ve taken away what makes you formidable and clapped you in their idea of strength instead. They’ve chained you up, yet asked you to be as powerful as you were when you were free. That isn’t what you want. That isn’t what you need._

Bakura’s arms refused to support his weight any longer and his jaw snapped shut as he collapsed downwards. His cheek pressed against the surface as his breath shuddered rough and shallow through his body; curiously, there seemed to be no sweat in the place where it should have fallen. He felt like a fruit drained dry.

_I think you should go back now. You won’t be able to stay awake much longer._ The voice hummed matter-of-factly. _Think about it. I’ll keep an eye out for you._ One of the floating yellow eyes winked, then they both vanished.

Bakura gasped as cool air rushed back into his lungs, coughing and convulsing as, in the shadow’s retreat, the priests’ blessing resumed. The feel of it made him sick, the light pulsing atop him and sticking to him like sap. He thought… with the stranger’s words in mind, he thought he could see the threats circling, closer now than ever. Rapidly, he struggled to his feet, ignoring how he swayed.

‘ _Bakura!’_ Mahaado’s voice bellowed in his head, and Bakura shielded his ears in response as though that might help abate the volume.

“Shut up, priest.”

‘ _What happened to you?’_ Mahaado came across frantic. _‘Where did you go?’_

Bakura smirked, although there was no one to see it. “Maybe your blessing just isn’t as good as you thought it was.” He found the pull towards the portal and turned to face it; just as he began to move, the other voice swirled around him again, smooth and quiet.

_Just to give you an idea of what I can do._

A gentle roar filled his ears, wind rushing through a thousand reeds, and only seconds later he found himself facing the portal, its blurred surface dashed in the red, beige, and gold of the Pharaoh’s ritual room. Something about the colours seemed muted… a sheen of grey or blue, dulling what had once been bright.

Mahaado’s voice had changed. _‘What… how did you do that?’_

Feeling more confident than he had since the beginning of this damned venture, Bakura laughed. “I’m a thief. Where there are ways, I find them.”

Re-entering the real world felt stranger than usual, perhaps because he was conscious while doing so. The colours were muted, smudged and burnished, the facial expressions were hostile, and his body felt leaden. Atemu sat in the same damn place as always, looking both bored and imposing—Bakura refused to quaver and met the Pharaoh’s gaze. Kalim and Shaadah proceeded around him to clamp his wrists and ankles.

Atemu rested his chin on relaxed knuckles, his words carefully cutting, “What a pleasant surprise to see you return under your own power for once.”

Bakura spat. “I am not so easy to kill as you think.”

“Fine.” Atemu waved a hand, chortling, “I shall continue making use of that fact.”

“I expect nothing better from a murderer like you.”

“How dare you!” Mahaado snarled, stalking like a jackal, “As though your hands are clean of _any_ sins!”

Bakura swelled up, straight of back and louder than before, “I don’t claim to be fucking pure. I don’t have any fucking delusions about what I am. Unlike the rest of you.”

“Mahaado.” Atemu’s voice carried through the room as though projected; Mahaado shrank away from Bakura, his neck flushed red under his veil. Ignoring Bakura entirely for the moment, Atemu cocked his head to one side, “Seth, return him to the cell. We shall see how judgemental he feels in the morning. Perhaps we’ll even feed him.”

Silently, Seth bowed low and hauled Bakura away. A pair of eunuchs hustled after them with alacrity.

“You’re being too quiet.” Bakura accused, his voice far from quiet enough given they were only meters down the hallway.

Seth, shoulders set, ignored him. The eunuchs followed within pike reach, and although there were no other bypassers at the moment, the corridors were far from empty. Today had been… disturbing. Something about Bakura had changed, upon his return. His shadow seemed to stretch further down the hall than it should; his steps were incongruous to his body weight. Seth couldn't parse it.

“If I upset you, will you say something?” Bakura pressed the issue, his grin menacing even though Seth refused to look at him, “Mahaado’s been inside my head.”

Seth lurched to a stop, whirling. “What?!”

“We had a great chat while I was wandering through hell.” Bakura clarified through bared teeth, his eyes narrowed to mocking slits, “Who knows what he’ll find in there? Anything you can imagine causing trouble?”

“Don’t be ludicrous. That’s blasphemy. Get away, you!” Seth shouted suddenly as the guards clustered forward with concern. He pointed his dismissal, hissing, “You’re relieved. He is no danger. Get away.”

“Grace…” One of the guards began carefully, but he was interrupted as Bakura suddenly doubled up and vomited on the floor. Bakura’s face had gone pale, peaked and papery, and his eyes were so deeply sunken in his face the whites were nearly swallowed up by iris and pupil, only minorly blown. The thief quivered, supported by one knee, but remained stubbornly conscious.

“He is no danger.” Seth repeated, voice deep and dark. The guards sketched quick bows to him and hurried in the opposite direction, one of them muttering about directing a slave down here to clean the mess. His gaze upon their departure, Seth spoke again, “Stand up, Bakura.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Bakura coughed a laugh, thin and wet, and spat blood into the small pool of sick, “It isn’t that easy.”

“If you won’t stand, I’ll drag you.” Seth bridled against the unrestrained feeling of cool panic coursing up from his stomach and quivered like a drawn bow string. Lowering his voice, he growled, “There is nothing I can do while we're _here_.”

Bakura chose to remain balled for a moment longer, looking to swallow several more urges before he eventually uncurled and rose unsteadily to his feet. He took several mincing steps before meeting Seth’s eyes with a minute nod, his jaw set.

“What happened to you in there?” Seth demanded, measuring his strides to stop himself getting too far ahead of Bakura, despite his need to get them out of sight and into a private space—any space with a door would do. He needed to know what was going on, for too many reasons. He needed to know what he was complicit to.

“I danced rings around cacti in the starlight.” Bakura deadpanned, his expression made less menacing than usual by his pallour, “What do you think? The same as before. You all watch me.”

“Something was different today.”

“Ooh, I wonder what could have caused _that_.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Seth snarled, only realising after Bakura started laughing that he’d repeated the thief’s earlier words. Impatient, Seth shoved Bakura roughly through the door of his cell and thrust it shut behind them. After twisting the key in the lock, he growled, “You’re in as much danger as I am. Tell me Mahaado knows nothing.”

“It isn’t my magic.” Bakura growled in return, “And you stand to lose more than I do, _priest_.”

Seth's fingers clawed at the frayed linen around Bakura's neck, “And both of us our lives, may I remind you.”

“I don’t know what he sees. All he did was talk.” Bakura made a face, swallowing around an urge, “It felt fucking filthy.”

Seth’s expression shuttered, his eyelids flickering shut. Their bodies pressed nearly together; Seth shifted his weight from one hip to the other, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. When he opened his eyes, he stared at a particular place on the wall and spoke without emotion. “You’re going to die. One way or another, this is going to kill you.”

“Shall I tell you not to worry?” Bakura mocked, wanting to press forward even as he leaned back against the wall of his cell. His legs weren’t going to hold out much longer, and he _ached_. “What difference does it make to you?”

“If you fail, the Pharaoh will continue his attempts. If you succeed, he stops.”

Bakura’s eyes flashed dangerously. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing.” Seth spoke flatly, jerking away and turning unlock the cell. Surreptitious, he adjusted the way his robes fell around him, refusing to give Bakura a further glance, “I sought only to remind you where my loyalties lie.”

Alone with a profoundly frustrated and ill-attended body, Bakura finally sank down to the ground, taking this time to examine himself. He was clammy, feeling hollow as a pitted date and infested with absence, and had enough presence of mind to wonder if this was how bad it usually got, or if it was better, or if it was worse. As bile burned up his throat again and he clenched his fingers into his thighs, he decided he much preferred being unconscious.


End file.
